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Sam is woken by a whisper.
“Sam, wake up.”
He rolls over and shoves his face into his pillow with a groan. Then there’s a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. He feels Bucky lean in close, his lips nearly brushing Sam’s ear.
“Sam. It’s snowing.”
The air from the whisper tickles his neck and he smiles into his pillow as he rolls back over. He follows Bucky up off the bed and to the window, dragging the blanket with him and wrapping it around his shoulders as he steps up next to Bucky.
He looks out at the thick fluffy snow falling past the window, his heart warming a bit, that thick feeling in the back of his throat. Bucky had been wishing for snow on Christmas for months. But they’d gone through a heat wave and the weather man had sworn they weren’t going to get it. But when are weather men ever right one hundred percent, and who doesn’t love a good Christmas miracle?
Sam moves his eyes from the window to look at Bucky. He’s staring out the window, his own eyes wide, a soft curve in his lips. Sam hears him sigh and moves to stand behind him, wrapping his arms, and the blanket, around Bucky, resting his chin on his shoulder. Bucky melts back into him and hums.
They stare out the window together for a long time. Sam doesn’t know how long, and he doesn’t really care. Because Bucky is happy, and his, and it’s snowing on Christmas morning. Sam presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s temple.
“Merry Christmas Buck.” He whispers, pulling Bucky impossibly closer. Bucky hums against him again.
“Merry Christmas Sam.” He whispers, and finally lets his eyes fall shut as he leans back, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder as he holds him close.